I didn't unpack.
I sat on the edge of the bed, counting how long it took for my heart to slow.
It never did.
The cameras didn't move.
They adjusted.
Every time I shifted, the soft hum above me changed.
Tracking.
Learning.
At 11:59 p.m., my phone buzzed.
Unknown Number:Lights.
At 12:00 a.m., the apartment went dark.
Not gradually.
Instantly.
I gasped.
That wasn't smart technology.
That was control.
My phone lit up again.
Good timing. You used to panic if they went off late.
Used to?
I swallowed hard.
Used to when?
This time, the reply came instantly.
Before you asked me to watch you sleep.
The air felt heavy.
Thick.
Like it was listening.
I didn't remember falling asleep.
I remembered waking up.
At 3:17 a.m.
Because someone was breathing.
Not loud.
Not rushed.
Careful.
Measured.
Right behind the wall.
My body locked.
Rule five screamed in my head.
Do not respond.
The breathing paused.
Then my phone vibrated against my thigh.
Good. You failed this the first time.
Tears slid silently into my ears.
Failed what?
The answer came slower.
Deliberate.
You tried to leave.You begged me not to let you.
My vision blurred.
A memory flickered—a white room,a contract,my hand shaking as I signed.
"If I forget," my voice whispered in my head,"don't tell me. Just watch me."
The breathing resumed.
Closer.
And from the tablet on the nightstand—one I hadn't noticed before—a video began to play.
It was me.
Sleeping.
From tonight.
A caption appeared underneath.
Day 1: Compliance successful.
END OF CHAPTER 2